


There Is No Shadow Too Dark

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Never Far from the Queen [7]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: Those musings are perhaps too serious for a young man his age, even among Woedica’s acolytes, who are not exactly known for mirth and being light-hearted. But even they experience some joys and failings of youth. Though, when he glances at Woedica’s statue, he thinks he is different in that, too.





	There Is No Shadow Too Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queen_scribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_scribbles/gifts).



> (One of the kiss writing prompts thrown at me by Queen: " 'discreetly' with the pairing of your choice". Well, saying that is always a bit risky :D)

Most of the temple is drowned in evening darkness already, the only light a few candles burning at the altar, and two magical lamps infused with the soul energy of the priests. He would like to offer some as well, but as an acolyte, he is not allowed to do so yet.

The shadows seem dancing around as he moves, but unlike some of his peers, he is not afraid of being alone in the temple, under the ever-watchful gaze of the Queen. Besides, something in the trembling pattern of light and darkness is strangely familiar… Not for the first time, there are whispers at the edge of his mind, too quiet to really hear, loud enough to know they are not an illusion.

Whatever it is, he trusts that Woedica will reveal all in due time… No, that is not trust; trust relies on belief, and this is _certainty_. He has been on this precipice before.

His parents are scholars, well versed in soul magic and natural laws, so he knows what an Awakening is; he also guesses that is what is happening to him. Has been for a few days – maybe months; small little things he never noticed until he discovered new knowledge that was there in his memory to use even though he has never learnt it. Not in this life. He is also guessing this is not his first Awakening.

The temple’s resident judge has looked into his soul once, at his request; it only lasted a while before she withdrew her thoughts abruptly, as if she saw something that terrified her – and she was not easily frightened. When he asked what scared her, she told him it was his soul; that it never slept, only slumbered, that it was not something mortals were made to bear. He answered that Woedica’s favoured are different, and then he spoke of duty in words that were his but not his.

But why should he be afraid of what had happened before, in other lives? The memories will return when the time is right. His path is clear: obedience and faithful service to the Queen and her justice. He does not understand what she demands of him, not yet, but knows she will reveal that in time; there is no need to rush, and if indeed his soul does not sleep, it needs all the rest it can get.

Those musings are perhaps too serious for a young man his age, even among Woedica’s acolytes, who are not exactly known for mirth and being light-hearted. But even they experience some joys and failings of youth. Though, when he glances at Woedica’s statue, he thinks he is different in that, too.

In the dim light, the Queen’s countenance seems smooth, timeless, and the candlelight gleaming in the dark eyes makes them look deeper, _alive_. Woedica is always watching, but he feels her gaze upon him when he moves across the chapel, and it burns through flesh right into his soul and sets it aflame. He wonders if that is something from another life, too, or just his own small, sinful thoughts. But if it is a sin, why does the Queen’s lips seem to be curling up in amusement?

Slowly, he approaches the altar, daring to look at Woedica’s face. There is a soft, tinkling sound that rises above the whispers for a moment, like a silvery chime; the quiet laughter of a woman. He looks down, at the statue’s outstretched hands, no bigger than his own. When he hesitantly touches the slender, artfully carved fingers, the adra seems warm like skin. The Queen’s eyes are staring down at him, glittering in the dark, watching curiously.

He leans in – bows – and presses his lips to the back of her palm in an ardent kiss. It is sacrilege; it is his most fervent prayer; it is a promise of his eternal devotion. No one should see, no one will know – but Woedica will remember.

“Oh, yes,” murmurs a voice among the whispers. “Yes, I will.”


End file.
